


Necklaces, Flowers, & Doubt

by MariaPriest



Series: S&H Blue Stamps - S1 [10]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode: s01e10 The Bait, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaPriest/pseuds/MariaPriest
Summary: Starsky & Hutch prepare for their undercover gig as drug dealers.
Relationships: Ken Hutchinson & David Starsky
Series: S&H Blue Stamps - S1 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1416343
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Necklaces, Flowers, & Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-episode scene

“I see Huggy took you shopping at the Pimps' Rejects Store. Got enough necklaces there, Starsk?” Hutch asked as his partner preened in front of the mirror, clearly admiring the image of sleek, shiny silver against coarse, dark hair and a slick suit and shirt made out of fabric not found in nature.

“You think I got too many? Or not enough. Huggy said three is lucky, and I figure we need all the luck we can get in this undercover gig. You know, like the three little pigs, the Holy Trinidad -”

Not able to stop himself from correcting Starsky, Hutch said, “Trinity, Starsky.”

“Oh, yeah. Then there's the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges, the three little kittens who lost their mittens -”

“That's not exactly lucky. How about a hat trick?” supplied Hutch.

“Good one, Blondie. Leave it to a Minnesotan to think of hockey.” Starsky fiddled with a button on his shirt. “Think I got enough buttons open?”

Hutch rolled his eyes in amusement at Starsky's serious question. “Babe, if you unbuttoned any more, we'd be seeing the button Mother Nature gave you.”

Starsky sighed in agreement. “Best not overdo it.”

Hutch chuckled silently at the use of “overdo,” which is exactly what happened with his new wardrobe. What self-respecting drug dealer from Texas would wear multi-colored, horizontal-striped shirts and bedazzled jackets? He looked more like an updated version of Voight's _Midnight Cowboy_ hustler than a drug dealer on the fast track. Again he chastised himself for not insisting he go shopping with Huggy for the clothes and jewelry and forcing Starsky to take care of acquiring the “rides”—meaning car, boots, and shoes. Especially since he knew Huggy was sure to choose rather garish cowboy duds. But a bet was a bet, and he'd lost the coin toss. At least Starsky fit his chosen undercover persona of a Brooklyn dealer.

Hutch repositioned himself to stand closely behind Starsky.

“Hey, lookit me! I got two heads!” exclaimed Starsky.

“You know what they say—two heads are better than -”

“Three,” interrupted Starsky, a smug, lopsided grin on his face.

After a moment, Hutch answered with a nod. “That's true. One head would go hungry because there'd be only two hands to feed 'em.”

“That's some good thinking there, buddy. Maybe you're not as dense as Luke told me you were when we first partnered.” Starsky's grin morphed to one that could be described as a smug cat.

Hutch pulled a face before reaching around Starsky to monkey with the twisted piece of silver dangling at his abdomen. “It's no mystery why you chose a talisman. It's supposed to ward off bad luck.”

“You're a regular font of facts, ya know, Hutch? Did you know it has a couple names?”

“I know one. Cornicello.”

Starsky shook his head forcefully. “Naw, Hutch, it's _horn_icello.”

Hutch guffawed. “I think you misheard whoever told you that.”

“Huggy called it that corny-jello name, but it don't fit. Ya see, Hutch, this is also known as an Italian _horn_. And it's also a symbol of manly, uh, vigor. Hence, its real name is _horn_icello. And if it ain't, it oughta be.” Starsky's eyebrows waggled energetically.

Hutch smiled at Starsky's unassailable logic. His fabricated name made more sense than the actual name. “You might be on to something there, partner,” he said evenly before yielding to another burst of laughter, which sparked the same in Starsky.

When they'd finally settled down, Hutch asked as he traced the outline of the bird medallion, “Why a bird, Starsk? It's kinda... girly, don'tcha think?”

“On the _canary_, my fine feathered fellow.” Hutch ignored the obvious play on words. “We're kinda like spies when we go undercover, right?” Hutch shrugged a less than enthusiastic agreement. “And we're playin' the bad guys. Now, what bad guys do you know are associated with a particular kind of bird?”

Hutch's brow furrowed in thought for a few moments, then his eyes widened when he had the answer. “You've been watching _Man from U.N.C.L.E._ reruns late at night, haven't you?”

Starsky smiled happily, with a trace of slyness. “One of these days, old man, you'll make a fine secret agent!”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Waverly.” With that, they both erupted in peals of laughter, this time needing to hold to each up.

Once recovered from their latest fit, they resumed their positions in front of the mirror. Hutch fingered the two-headed emblem at the base of Starsky's throat. “And this has a special meaning too, I take it?”

“Certainly, Stanley,” Starsky said in a passable impersonation of Oliver Hardy, then abruptly turned serious. “It's us,” he said softly, not quite a whisper. “See the gold on top of the heads? That's like, uh, the stuff on top of helmets worn by Spartans or gladiator types. And that's us. Warriors on the street, together protecting and serving, 'cause two are better than one.”

Not for the first time, Starsky impressed Hutch with his thoughtfulness, of the importance of symbolism in his life. So few people knew this side of him, and Hutch felt privileged to be one of them.

“Together, we are better, partner. Me and thee.”

“Always.” Starsky took a deep breath. “Time to get back to developing our characters and coming up with a plan and contingencies?”

With that, Hutch laid his left hand over Starsky's belly and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, my blond beauty, whatsa matter? That glum-y look on your face is makin' me rethink the beauty part.”

Hutch snorted. “Starsky, I'm... afraid.”

“Me, too, and that's a good thing, Hutch. Keeps us sharp.”

“No, not in that way. Well, yes, in that way, but another way, too.” Hutch paused for several breaths and watched the concern on Starsky's face grow. “I don't think I can go through with this operation.”

“Spill the beans, babe. We gotta work this out _now_.”

He looked away from the dark blue eyes that were doing too good a job at reading him. “I'm scared I'll be tempted. Hell, I'm scared I'll actually rip open that key right then and there and snort that shit. I'm afraid it's bait for a starving fish and that fish is me.”

Starsky turned without warning to face Hutch, in the process jarring Hutch's teeth and temporarily flinging Hutch's arm in an unnatural way. Starsky then clasped Hutch's upper arms in his strong hands. His grip compelled Hutch to look at him again.

“Don't _say_ that, partner. Don't even _think_ it. I know it's only been a few weeks, but this won't be our first smack bust since then. You're _strong_. You weren't tempted then and you won't be this time or any _other_ time, _ever_.”

“This time is different, Starsky. This time, we're out there alone, undercover.”

“Dammit, Hutch, we're _not_ alone! We have each other.”

“Okay, I'll grant you that, Starsk. But what if we're asked to use that shit to seal the deal? You know, build some sort of... sick camaraderie. Those who shoot up together can trust each other, because only cops won't shoot up.”

“Then we tell 'em we're too smart to use the product 'cause we gotta keep our act together or the big boss will deep-six us permanently.” Starsky paused, then said, tightening his grip, “You can _do_ this, Hutch. _We_ can do this.”

“Okay, we turn 'em down and don't use. Now what if they won't sell? What then? Agree anyway just to prove we aren't cops or walk away and let someone else buy that crap to sell to kids?”

“We still say no and you finesse 'em with the words you always have ready.” Starsky sighed loudly. “Hutch, you're overthinking this.”

Hutch stared deeply into Starsky's eyes, hoping to find answers, any answer. He didn't find answers, just strength and loyalty and unwavering confidence in him that he seemed to absorb through Starsky's hands and sheer force of will. “You're right, Gordo. But I'm also afraid of losing control and beating the crap outta the dealers. If I start something like that, I don't think I can stop until it's too late.”

“Lookit, babe, how many times have you pulled me offa some perp, huh? Remember that rapist I was determined to turn into mincemeat but you stopped me before I could even cut him up into steaks?”

Hutch nodded at the memory of that incident that occurred in the first months of their partnership as detectives. At the time, he hadn't understood the fury behind Starsky's attack on the perp, frightening him so much that he considered ending their relationship on all levels. Later Starsky told him of a first cousin, a girl of fourteen, who'd been sexually assaulted and maimed, leaving her blind, deaf, and pregnant. Hutch had admitted he admired Starsky's restraint.

“If you start somethin', _anything_, Hutch, I got your back. I'll be there like you were for me, 'kay?”

Hutch soaked up more of Starsky's faith and trust in him, in _them_. Now he was certain he could—and would—handle this personally precarious situation with aplomb. Together, they would handle anything that came their way.

Hutch responded with a look that said, _I know, and I can do this, and thanks_.

“Good! Now that that's settled, I got somethin' for ya.” Starsky patted both of Hutch's cheeks and headed for the kitchen. He returned with a small florist box. “Here. Something for your lapel.”

Hutch, knowing Starsky, knew what was in the box even before he opened it. “Starsk, I can't believe you. A rose? You expect me to wear a _rose_?”

“Not just any rose, babe. A _yellow_ rose. As in Texas?”

Hutch almost grinned at Starsky's earnestness in explaining the flower, but he didn't want to encourage him. “What self-respecting drug dealer wears a flower—of _any_ kind—in his lapel?”

“First off, drug dealers don't respect themselves. It's in the definition. Second, how do you know there aren't pushers who wear flowers?”

“Okay, you could be right, but I doubt it.”

“And third, it could be your... trademark. You know, somethin' that sets you apart from other low lives.”

Hutch suppressed a laugh in deference to Starsky's sincerity. “Starsk, partner, _buddy_, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not gonna wear this in my lapel. Besides, there's no buttonhole I can put it in.”

Starsky's disappointment looked genuine, making Hutch's chest tighten a little. There was an uncomfortable pause before Starsky spoke.

“You got a point, Hutch.” Then Hutch noticed a subtle change to impish in Starsky's expression as he said, “How 'bout wearing it over your ear instead, huh?”

Hutch laughed out loud. “You goofball. Now try on your shoes, make sure they fit.”

One side of Starsky's mouth curled into a sneer. “Don't wanna. They look... cruel. Like some kinda torture device.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Starsk, I promise they're your size. And lots of people are wearing this style so they can't be that uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but I'm not 'lots of people.'”

Hutch punched an exasperated breath through his nose. “Ain't that the truth. Just go try the damn things on, will ya?”

“Okay, okay, don't get your neckerchief all in a bunch, bronco.” Starsky sat on the sofa and extracted one platform shoe from the open box. “Got a question for ya, babe.”

“Yeah?”

“Which one am I again? Rafferty or O'Brien?”

the end

November 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, so please be kind and let me know of any errors and such.


End file.
